The Secret
by michael1812
Summary: The urge, the need, the silence and the exhaustion, the satisfaction. My secret. My sanctuary. I hide in its bliss, in its shadow. The place where monsters go to devour their meals. The dragon's den. The kill room.


Frequently I find myself slowing down the moment when their hearts stop.

The knife plunges into their main artery and the blood gushes outward. A fatal leak in the otherwise impeccable system of the human body, built to withstand; a living factory, eating, digesting, breathing, defecating, bleeding. The blood sprays over me, missing me, leaving me untouched, but I can taste it.

There it is, the moment where I leave the knife inside the wound. It doesn't last.

The edge of the blade doesn't glimmer in the bright light above my personal operating table.

It only reflected the dead man's darkness, or my own. His death marked a new beginning. I satisfy my urges and two women get to live. I methodically cut the sheets of plastic around his naked body and watch how the arms shudder and fall, hanging helpless towards the ground.

I glance at the fresh drop of blood, suspended between two glass slides on a table covered in the same plastic. My token. My memory.

I'll remember you like this, Mr. Gladstone. One name among many, locked in the back of my mind. You'll fill my heavy duty garbage bags perfectly in neat, clean little packages. I'll have to dispose of you first. Cut you up. It sounds so vulgar. I'd rather not call it that. I'll call it my art. My ritual. My own.

I pull down my visor as I wield the chainsaw. The power rattles in my hands, but its not the machine that satisfies me. It's the transformation. It's the secret that pains me, that inflicts pain, the monster inside the cage, unleashed, into silent shadows.

I let it build inside, I tease the dark passenger (or does it tease me?), and then I lose control.

It's numbing, blinding, that moment when the anger takes hold, instinct, rage and pleasure when the knife strikes and my victory is complete.

The silence is soothing as I stand there gasping, naked in the dark.

There are no voices outside that door. No sirens, no screams. It's the secret.

The pieces of the puzzle fall out of place, and the life on the table is eradicated piece by piece.

With each body part I remove a gap lingers. I used to see it so clearly. The darkness lingers in the places of memory, that don't make sense, until the body is completely gone, leaving only a stain of blood on the plastic, that's soon to be removed. The last piece of evidence he was ever here. Alive. I clean it up, rolling the plastic together to be cut into pieces again. It's not a chore for me. It's the neatness, the precision of the cuts that divide the layers into halves.

The bags which hold the body parts don't drip. It's why I bought them.

My tools are awaiting their master's touch. I wash the blood off and sing them to sleep, glimmering all nice and shiny. They have done their job well, their purpose has been fulfilled.

The place is almost done. The bags are ready to be carried away, to take the dead man's remains to their last resting place, deep down in the darkness in my soul (or to become the darkness in my soul) and the bowels of the ocean.

Only one thing remains.

The photos of the dead man's victims. The reason he's dead. The reason for _his _metamorphosis,_ his_ secret. I watch the photos before I put them away, telling them it is over.

I don't know if I care. But I know that if there's someone that could've brought them peace, it would be me right now. So maybe I did help them, in my own monstrous way (although it would be hypocrite of me to reward my good deeds, yet not condemn my sins. In a world without heaven or hell, I shouldn't have to do either. So I don't.).

There'll be no traces of their peace here, or my evil.

The urge has faded, leaving nothing more than satisfaction, and everything is clear now.

That's why I stretch the moment. That's why I linger in the darkness in the clean, kill room after it is all over. I enjoy the silence, and the way I feel.

At peace.

If there is any place I can feel complete, where I can be myself, it is this.

But I don't want to stay.

The Code, the secret, the dark passenger, is telling me to leave this place and never return.

But I can't help but glance back at the room I leave behind, the fading memory that took place there, the energy, the moment, just before I close the door, and I smile. No-one will know.

My boat is waiting for me.


End file.
